


Stand and Deliver

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: There is a number of small things [21]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Based on an Adam Ant song, Dandy Highwaymen, Debauchery, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fiction based on music, Friendship, Highway robbery, Love, M/M, Or rather the video, Outlaws, Pirates, Sex, Slytherins, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Stand And Deliver, Unspecified Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7714963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A completely ridiculous and totally unnecessary homage to a music video from a certain sexy, leather-trouser-wearing Ant.</p><p>You have been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand and Deliver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unkissed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/gifts).



> Okay, first of all, I apologize if this reads like two different parts. I wrote the first half of this quite a long while ago and have been trying to get back to it for ages, and by the time I actually did, I had forgotten the intended path I had mapped out in my brain. TD, I *think* I'm pretty close to my original concept tho, since it's really only a homage to the music video.
> 
> For the very best bestie, Unkissed, who believes in me even when I don't believe in myself. <3

The sun is just beginning to rise behind a grassy knoll in the distance when the first squawks of a questionably tuned trumpet break the silence and send a flock of wild birds scurrying across the sky in a hurry. The dark waters of an ample lake rustle and whirr with a soft, early morning breeze that goes unnoticed by most. The air has already begun to turn cold from the impending change of seasons and the trees shake with dew deposited in the span of night. Draco wakes like he always does, with a fierce jump and a start and whiskey on his breath. It doesn’t take him nearly as long as his bed companion to liken to the sights and sounds of a new day dawning and he stretches his arms gracefully overhead and lets out a cleansing groan.

 

“Wake up,” Draco mutters as he reaches over to poke the sleeping lump beside him with the sort of smirk that was far too alert for the hour.

 

The sleeping pile of blankets grunts and twitches, but appears otherwise unaffected, which doesn’t sit entirely well with Draco. “I said, wake up.” This time he doesn’t bother with a simple poke, instead reaching for the pile of jumbled blankets, which he promptly tosses off the oversized bed and straight to the floor.

 

“Five more minutes, mum.” Came the sleepy response from the man beside Draco who was trying in vain to cling to the last vestiges of nighttime dreams.

 

Draco arches a brow and stares down at the other man, scratching absently at the stubble on his chin as a slow grin spread itself out nicely across his mouth. “Would your mother do this?” He asks, fingertips tracing devilishly slow up a warm thigh, brow still rose curiously. “Or this?” He adds, running those same fingertips over the swell of hardness hidden by a marginally scant pair of underpants.

 

“Fuck off, Malfoy.” The other man mutters indignantly, although it does not go unnoticed by Draco that his teasing touch seems to be well received, all the same.

 

“You’d like that, would you?” Draco asks as he fiddles with the drawstring of the other man’s pants, purposely brushing against him now and again.

 

“You are annoyingly chipper in the morning, do you know that?” When Theodore Nott finally opens his eyes and fixes Draco with a look that is not nearly as annoyed as he’d have liked it to be, Draco can only smirk and shrug a shoulder.

 

“I can’t help it when Gregory is blowing on that forsaken horn at all hours.” Draco snorts as he tugs on the knotted tie of Theodore’s pants; lips twitching as the flimsy string easily gives to him.

 

“Let him be, you know he’s only trying to cope.” Theodore offers him an encouraging smile and obediently lifts his arse off the mattress as Draco divests him of the only article of clothing he is wearing.

 

“Well, I wish he’d _cope_ more quietly.” Draco mutters as he tosses the pilfered underpants over the side of the bed to join the blankets. He gazes down at Theodore’s bare form stretched out beside him, a faint smirk quirking his lips as he rolls over and aligns himself atop the other man. “As for you, just _try_ and cope quietly.” Draco’s voice is low enough to resemble a soft growl and Theodore can do little more than shiver beneath him. Theodore Nott loves his sleep but he was certain that if he must be awoke at such an hour, Draco’s way was the very _best_ way.

 

 

By the time the pair are descending the stairs, the sun has risen up to find its place in the sky above. The Manor is already alive with activity all around them as they make their way to the large dining hall for breakfast and take their seats at the massive table, whose every chair is now occupied. Draco sits himself at the head with Theodore on his right, Blaise already seated at his immediate left. “Morning, everyone.” Draco says as he raises a crystal goblet—An action that is immediately followed by everyone seated around the room. His eyes move around the table before he thinks to speak at all, pleased to have the attention of the entire room. “Candle to the Devil,” He says with a knowing smirk before drinking heavily from his glass. The idiom makes its way around the table with gusto as each in company mimics Draco’s actions. Of course Theodore makes a show of it because he can’t help himself, and when his tongue slips out to lick the rim of his own goblet Draco swallows thickly and exchanges a look with the other man that is indecipherable to anyone but the two of them.

 

Breakfast, like most meals held within the walls of Malfoy Manor, is a boisterous affair. This was the time when the Slytherins sat down to plan their courses of action for the day to come. The English Countryside was still ensconced in the comforting embrace of sleepy whispers as Draco and his fellows dug into their meal and enjoyed one another’s company. It hadn’t always been this way and Draco still remembered a time when the walls of this old house were as hollow as a discarded shell on a sandy beach.

 

Times have not always been easy for Draco Malfoy, and life could be a real bitch when it wanted to be, but Draco was nothing if not determined to make the best of all that he had come to call his own.

 

War and strife had purged this great country he called home, and although there were many casualties and losses along the way, this group had closed ranks in the only way that they knew how.

 

The Slytherins, as they had become known amongst the whispered words and trembling lips of many, were a notorious band of highwaymen that skulked the sprawling countryside of Southwest England. Often they could be found purging travelers of their purse or a steed (or in Daphne’s case, a shiny piece of jewelry). The Slytherins had become something of a charming fable, much in part to the efforts of their fearless and fashionable leader.

 

Draco Malfoy was born with two gifts that he knows and owns for certain—An appreciation for expense and luxury, and a basic desire to misbehave.

 

After the war had ravaged England and left her on her knees, Draco and his friends were left with very little aside from their own lives. Of course, being on the wrong side of war tends to render a person as such and each of his companions truly has no one to blame but themselves, but that is far, _far_ beside the point. Each Slytherin seated around this ancient table had lost something or someone, some more than others.

 

“What say you?” Draco asks between forkfuls of sausage as he fixes his pale gaze on Daphne, who is seated halfway down the table on the right.

 

Daphne Greengrass has been one of Draco’s closest confidants for as long as he can remember, and coincidentally, the only female to accomplish such a feat. There was a time in his life when he was promised to Daphne’s younger sister, Astoria, who was killed in the first wave of battle when war broke out. Of course Draco had never had any desire to marry Daphne’s sister, and although he sympathized with Daphne for her loss, he was quietly relieved every day that such a thing never came to pass. It was Daphne who had come up with the name Slytherin (rightly given for their cunning ways and sly prowess), and it was Daphne who served as something of a double agent. The Greengrass family had been smart to distance themselves from taking a side during the war, and as such, Daphne was able to retain her high societal position within the folds of England’s idle rich. She had become invaluable to the Slytherins for her tidbits of information on who was traveling where, although Draco valued her for much more than that. She was one of his few true friends, and for this fact alone; she was a priceless commodity in his eyes.

  
Daphne wipes at the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin before she returns Draco’s gaze, the faintest hint of amusement curling the corners of her mouth. “There are whispers that Lord and Lady McLaggen are set to pass the bridge before dusk.” Her eyes remain focused on Draco as she speaks, the quiet disrupt about the table, ignored.

 

Draco could not help but grin smugly at this pleasing tidbit of news and his nod of approval instantly quieted the group. “Very good, I daresay we are riding for the bridge at noon.” Draco grabs for his goblet and draws heavily from it, thoroughly pleased by the idea of relieving the ever-pompous Lord McLaggen of whatever worldly possessions he might be carting along on his travels.

 

It was Greg who spoke next, much to Draco’s dismay. “Ain’t Lord ‘Laggen having the favor of the Bobbies on ‘is side?” Gregory Goyle was easily the clumsiest and thickest of the lot, and although there was a time that Draco had depended greatly upon him and his former companion Vincent (who had gotten himself killed in an ironically stupid accident involving a roaring fire), these days Draco rarely had the patience to listen to him speak.

 

“Your point, Gregory?” Draco asks around an impatient sigh as he reaches for his goblet, yet again.

 

Greg stares blankly up the table at Draco with an expression that Draco thought terribly fitting of his mental state, tiny bits of egg and sausage clinging to his lips. “Well, nothin’ I suppose, just sayin’ we should be careful is all.” Greg shrugs a thick shoulder and shovels a massive bit of food into his mouth and succeeds in spilling yolk down his front, which makes Draco’s eye twitch.

 

“Noted.” Draco mutters dismissively and then quickly adverts his attention elsewhere, lest Greg decide he might have more to say.

 

Quiet discord begins to break out around the table and although Draco would have very much liked to tell his friends to suck it up, he was granted a momentary stay from the left.

 

“You know, Greg may have a point, Draco.” Blaise leans in close enough that his voice isn’t readily heard by the entirety of the group without strain, which did not stop Draco from turning his head and narrowing his eyes one bit. “Is that so?” He asks in a tone that gave away very little of the mounting impatience inside of him.

 

“Inspector Potter has been trying to catch us for months, don’t you read the Prophet?” Blaise spoke with the calm air of a trusted advisor. His posture was casual and he stared straight at Draco, waiting for him to disagree.

 

“He’s right Draco, Potter has sworn to see you to the gallows himself!” Millie’s voice cracks as she speaks and her hands wring together as if it pained her to even think such a thing.

 

Draco’s nose wrinkles at the mention of Harry Potter and although he would have enjoyed nothing more than to argue the fact that Inspector Potter was nothing but an overzealous try-hard, he knows that Blaise has a point.

 

“Potter’s made Inspector?” Graham Montague’s painfully stupid question makes Draco’s eye twitch yet again, and he momentarily wonders how he has allowed himself to be surrounded by so much idiocy. Of course, it was not Graham’s fault he couldn’t remember Harry Potter taking the Inspector badge. Graham had trouble remembering his own name some days, thanks in no small part to the handiwork of a couple of bandits from the ginger-haired Weasley clan.

 

“I bet I could find _some_ way to distract the good Inspector, if it comes to that.” Pansy’s red painted lips curl into a seductive smile as she offers her piece, which earns her an eye roll from Daphne and an amused smirk from Blaise. Draco ignores her entirely.

 

“What if Lord and Lady McLaggen’s journey is nothing but a ruse to ensnare a dandy highwayman such as yourself?” Blaise could not keep the amusement from his tone as he spoke, and although Draco had his back to Theodore, he knew that the dark haired devil was grinning at Blaises’ words.

 

“Watch it, Zabini.” Draco grumbles in retort, leaning back in his seat and resting his chin on a closed and gloved fist. After an extended silence he taps his chin with the pad of a fingertip and smiles. “We’ll just have to be ready for them then, wont we?” He says with the same sort of charming smile that had quickly earned him favor and fanfare amongst the whispered back of hands of London’s morally grey.

 

Daphne rolls her eyes because she knows a speech is coming and Theodore smiles proudly while Blaise merely looks on, allowing the master his moment, as it were to be.

 

Slowly, Draco slides his chair back and stands, hooded fingertips curling around the hilt of the sword slung low at his side. “Cunning friends, sly Slytherins,” He pauses here to pointedly look at Greg before continuing. “You have come to fight as Slytherins, and Slytherins you are! What will you do without us? Will you fight? Fight and you may die. Run, and you will never have the forum to rise up against the oppressors of our great country and show our enemies that they may take our lives but they will never take our freedom! Stand with me, Slytherins, and let us take what is rightfully ours!”

 

Draco finishes his speech with a dramatic flair that would have served him well on a stage and the way his cheeks flush from the heat of the moment reminds Theodore of very different moments behind the locked door of their bedroom, but _that_ is also, a different story.

 

Draco remains frozen in his pose with his sword rose high and head tossed back as his fellow Slytherins stare up at him with the sort of adoration that he lives for. The soft tinkle of their praising voices and enthusiastic cheers send a euphoric rush through his veins that makes him shudder in delight—Delight that is sadly, rather short lived.

 

“Did you just quote Brave Heart?” Pansy’s annoyingly abrasive tone cuts right through the excited chattering and slaps Draco with a healthy dose of reality, which makes him heave a dramatic sigh.

 

“Yes, but that’s hardly the point, is it?” Draco mutters more to himself than anyone else as he carefully slides his sword back into its sheath, pointedly ignoring the amused cackles filtering from Pansy’s side of the table.

 

“It’s a very good movie,” Blaise counters with a casual shrug as he sips his coffee, seemingly unbothered.

 

“Kilts are fucking hot,” Theodore adds with a brow wag as he lights a cigarette, which Draco promptly relieves him of.

 

“THE POINT,” Draco cuts in, glaring daggers at a rather smug looking Pansy, “Is that we’re Slytherins. We go in together and we go down together too. Got it?” His gaze moves around the table slowly as each seated person nods a quiet acquiescence, which makes him swell once more with pride.

 

     ∞

 

“Here, let me help you with that,” Theodore says a short while later as he watches Draco fiddle with the black satin masque that he wears on all of their outings.

 

Draco stills as Theodore crosses the space towards him, unable to help the faint twist of lips that the other man always seems to draw straight out of him.

 

Gently, Theodore brushes aside strands of Draco’s hair as he affixes the satin ribbons firmly behind his head. “Hmm,” Theodore says, fingers still on Draco’s head.

 

“What?” Draco asks as he straightens his waistcoat and ruffled shirtsleeves, intent on looking every bit the dashing gent on the outside that he feels like on the inside.

 

“Your hair,” Theodore says a bit distracted, and the way that his fingertips part the fine strands of Draco’s hair is enough to cause him pause.

 

“What about my hair?” He asks, now looking directly at Theodore in the reflection of the mirror.

 

“it’s…” Theodore takes enough of a pause here to sufficiently make Draco nervous and he swears, loudly, because if Theo tells him that he is prematurely balding he is going to lose his shit.

 

“It’s what?” Draco whispers, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for the worst.

 

“It’s not…blond.” Theodore says curiously as he peers at Draco’s hair roots with disbelief.

 

“Oh, that,” Draco says with a small laugh, relief flooding his system. “Peek-a-boo roots, people find them dashing.” Draco assures Theodore’s reflection with a smirky grin that Theo can only blink at incredulously.

 

“Peek-a-boo roots?” He repeats slowly, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Draco was apparently **not** a natural blond. “Damn, I guess I owe Pansy five notes.” Theodore scratches his head and looks distracted, which makes Draco smirk.

 

“You didn’t think a color like _that_ was natural, did you?” Draco asks through a tight-lipped chuckle.

 

“And here I thought I knew all of your secrets.” Theodore replies with a small frown that effectively makes Draco feel guilty.

 

“It’s a family secret Theodore, father would have strung me up if I dared breathe a word of it.” Draco chuckles again, with much less intent. His parents have been dead for over a year, there was really no reason to keep such secrets anymore. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner,” He adds quietly as he reaches for Theodore’s hand and laces their fingers together.

 

“You will be, later.” Theodore says while wearing a wicked grin that makes Draco wonder if his discord is merely an act—Which would be _just_ like a Slytherin.

 

       ∞

 

“Listen up!” Draco calls as he mounts a blue roan stallion named Baldur that is as beautiful as his rider. “We’ve done this a thousand times if we’ve done it once, and today’s ride will be no different. If each of us keeps to our part, there will be no hiccups.” Draco glances around at his group of fellow Slytherins, each dressed and masked in uniquely different and flashy attire.

 

The flamboyant costumes had been purely Draco’s doing. His reasoning behind the idea was that it would be impossible for victims to harness a true understanding of any redeeming qualities that might lead to an arrest. The smart clothing and masked faces were a clever juxtaposition that confused and intrigued those who came upon the Slytherin highwaymen. No one used their real names and few ever actually spoke at all, aside from Draco.

 

“I hate these clumsy fucking boots.” Theodore grumbles atop his horse at Draco’s side as he tugs at the top of a tall black boot that looks more like something one might wear when dressing up like a pirate than anything else.

 

“You look perfect,” Draco says with an approving smile, which melts Theodore’s insides just a little bit. “Besides, they’re very dashing.” He adds with a wink, which makes Theodore chuckle fondly and shake his head.

 

The ride to the bridge, which is really just a connecting pass between Mere and Swindon on the Ridgeway, takes most of the day and Draco is thankful that the air is cool and the sun is forgiving. His outfit consisted of several layers of leather, satin and lace that could prove to be most uncomfortable in a certain degree of temperature that he did not enjoy. By the time the Slytherins arrive at the bridge the sun is low in the sky and night would soon be upon them, which meant they had no time to lose if they were to be prepared for a proper highway robbery.

 

“Gregory, stash the horses. Malcolm and Adrian, you know what to do.” Draco dismounts Baldur and steps back as Greg takes the horse by the reins and leads him away into a thick cropping of underbrush. Draco dusts off his trousers as he watches Malcolm Baddock and Adrian Pucey disappear into a pair of large trees that overhung the ridgeway clear to the other side. Millicent, who is nearly as tall as Draco and has her hair tied back and tucked into the high collar of her shirt, could have easily passed as a male member of their group, which was a perfect example of Draco’s plan executed flawlessly. Daphne ducks behind another tree farther up the bridge with a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder, but not before meeting Draco’s gaze and smirking faintly. Daphne had spent so many years throwing tea cups at everyone in school that she is a natural with a bow and arrow, something that both terrifies and pleases every other member of the group, respectively.

 

Pansy and Graham both find places out of sight behind a couple of overgrown shrubs and Blaise lingers somewhere nearby and unseen, like he always does. Draco and Theodore lean up against the pair of trees that are concealing Malcolm and Adrian, and then they wait.

 

It doesn’t take long at all before the soft clatter of hooves can be heard in the nearing distance, which has Draco instantly on alert. “Right on time,” Draco says with a smile as he straightens the satin mask shielding his face.

 

The faint sound of an approaching carriage is steadily growing louder and Draco draws his sword and steps closer to Theodore’s tree. “Show time,” He murmurs with a smile, which Theodore can only grin at.

  
“Break a leg.” Theodore jokes as he leans forward to steal a kiss from the dandiest highwayman he’d ever laid eyes on.

 

“Don’t forget your line,” Draco hisses and when Theodore rolls his eyes, Draco chooses not to see it.

 

At that particular moment the carriage rounds a wide corner and comes into full view. Draco notes that it is impressively massive, even by Lord McLaggen’s status, but he quickly dismisses this thought. The coachman and his aside appear to be in deep conversation with one another, hardly affording the road more than a secondary glance, which Draco finds peculiar, although not entirely unheard of.

 

The carriage ascends in slow motion as Draco watches from his place beside the large tree, and although the scene appears to be any other in a long list of successful heists, somewhere in the back of Draco’s mind he knows that is not the case today.

 

Draco has only a moment to glance at Theodore before he is stepping out from behind the tree at the same time as Graham and Pansy emerge from their hidden spots. Draco swallows thickly as he watches the scene unfold before him, unable to stop it.

 

The carriage comes to halt mere inches from Theodore, Pansy, and Graham in a harsh jostle of wood, wheels, and protesting horses. A bead of sweat races down the middle of Draco’s back as Theodore takes a step forward and holds out his sword towards the coachman. “Keep your head sir, and this robbery will be quick and painless.” Theodore sounds like he is reading a worn out script that had been bore into his skull, which would have made Draco chuckle under his breath in normal circumstances. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach intensifies and he ignores it, plastering a charming smile on his face as he steps out from behind the tree. The coachman and his aside watch in silence as Draco sashays up to the carriage door and closes his fingers around it with a little smile. He knows that the chances of finding simply a Lord and Lady on the inside are very small, but he was past the point of return now, and Draco Malfoy never does anything halfway.

 

“Stand and deliver!” Draco exclaims as he throws open the carriage door and points his sword inside.

 

 

To say that Draco is not quite prepared for what meets him on the inside of the carriage would be an understatement, and although he retains his composure like a seasoned performer met with upset on a stage, his sword wavers ever so slightly.

 

As he had suspected, Lord and Lady McLaggen are not ensconced within the compartment, but neither is anyone else. The carriage is hollow from one wall to the other, save a neatly waxed scroll of parchment placed with intent upon a velvet cushion. Draco steps back a pace and thrusts his sword towards the coachman, who appears far too calm considering his current predicament. “What is the meaning of this?” He asks in the voice he reserves for such affairs, brows rising up towards his hairline beneath the mask that shielded his face.

 

“It’s for you,” The coachman says as he gestures towards the still-open carriage door, eyes fixed firmly on the sword held on him.

 

“Sort of a redundant form of post, don’t you think?” Draco chuckles as his gaze falls once more on the scroll of parchment. When the coachman says nothing Draco steps closer to the open door and reaches for the parchment. The Slytherins watch as their leader quickly and carefully extracts the scroll, half of them expecting doom to befall upon their number the moment his gloved fingers curl around the thing.

 

“We should go,” Theodore says as he turns his attention to Draco, who is staring down at the sealed scroll in his grasp.

  
Draco ignores the request and turns his attention back to the coachman, who is watching the scene silently unfold. “Who sent you?” He demands, thrusting his sword with renewed intent.

 

“I think you know,” The man replies without any visible emotion, which unsettles Draco more than he would care to admit.

 

“We _really_ should go.” Theodore urges again, taking a step closer to Draco, who is locked in some sort of pointless stare down with the coachman.

 

“Wait!” Draco huffs impatiently, effectively silencing Theodore and anyone else in his group that might have been considering speaking up.

 

Before he can think better of it Draco steps up to the carriage and climbs aboard, an act that finally seems to get a reaction out of the coachman and his aside. He clambers right up to the tip top of the massive carriage with a feline grace that most men can only dream about and when he props his gloved fists on his hips and tilts his head back to laugh, Theodore thinks he looks just like he is on top of the world.

 

“Tell me sir, what’s the point of robbery when nothing is worth taking?” The coachman stares blankly at Draco and shrugs a shoulder, which causes Draco to laugh once again. In one fluid movement Draco jumps over the decorative railing and lands on the baseboards directly behind the bench seat the two men are occupying. He kneels down between them, smiling so large that he appears somewhat maniacal, which has them exchanging nervous glances. “I assure you both that there is always _something_ worth taking.” Draco nudges the coachman and chuckles before he stands up and points his sword at the pair of scruffs. “Run.” He says with a charming smile that seems to contradict the order.

 

When the pair doesn’t budge Draco rolls his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “I said **run** , and hope that we don’t catch you before you reach your master.” Without warning Draco lifts his boot and pushes the coachman right off the carriage with its toe, an action that finally gets him the attention he’s craved all along. The squat man hits the dirt highway with a squish and a grunt that shocks his aside into action. Draco watches from his perch atop the carriage as the two men scramble away from the scene in a trail of dust and debris, and his smirk is so smug that it was surely criminal.

 

“Are you insane?” Theodore calls up from the ground, and he looks so absolutely murderous that Draco can’t help but toss back his head and laugh heartily.

 

Draco has not led his fellow Slytherins all the way out to the bridge to return to the manor empty handed, and if there was no treasure to be pilfered, then a fancy carriage would have to do. Of course, Draco knows that they can’t exactly keep a stolen carriage at Malfoy manor, but that is hardly the point is it?

 

   ∞

 

It is late into the evening when Draco finally sits down to break the seal on the scroll of parchment that he’d found in the carriage. The Slytherins have stashed the flashy thing in the forest and returned to the manor with the horses, which Millie colors with vegetable dye to disguise them. Of course everyone wants Draco to reveal the contents at the dinner table, although few openly disagree when he declines.

 

Draco is seated behind an ancient desk in his father’s old study, the only other occupants of the room being Theodore, and Blaise, since Daphne had returned home before dinner. Theodore pours out two fingers of whiskey for each of them and Draco downs his entire tumbler before carefully breaking the undecipherable wax seal and unrolling the scroll of parchment. He stares down at it for a long moment that hangs in the air like stale silence before Theodore speaks up, unable to contain himself. “Well? What’s it say?” He asks as he pours out another round of drink.

 

“Nothing.” Draco replies quietly, gaze lifting to meet the expectant eyes of his companion.

 

“Nothing?” Theodore repeats, his brows furrowing with confusion.

 

“Exactly that, yes.” Draco says, turning the parchment over in his hands and holding it up for the room to see.

 

The scroll is indeed void of any message, written or otherwise, and the blatant show does not sit well with Draco at all. Of course, he knows in his heart of hearts that there could only be one possible orchestrator of such a ruse, and as the three men sit there in silence, Draco can’t help but wonder what it could possibly mean.

 

“Someone’s idea of a joke, surely.” Blaise shrugs noncommittally as he sips his tumbler of liquor, seemingly unbothered by the mysterious scroll.

 

“I am not so easily convinced.” Draco adds as he leans forward to pour out another drink for himself, automatically refilling Theodore’s tumbler as well.

 

“We shall sit on this til morning, when I might have a proper consult with Daphne.” Draco’s pale gaze moves between the other men, an unspoken understanding passing between them. “Good.” He adds with a firm nod as he raises his glass, quickly downing its contents before rising from his seat.

 

∞

 

“You’re still thinking about it.” Theodore’s voice is soft in Draco’s ear and the stale whiskey on his breath makes Draco feel warm and loved.

 

The pair has retired to their rooms after the meeting with Blaise, which seems the easiest way to avoid unwanted questions from fellow Slytherins. Draco is lying supine atop the oversized bed he shares with Theodore, hand resting on an open palm as he gazes up at the high vaulted ceiling above. Theodore has himself partially draped over Draco in hopes of distracting him because he hates to see the blond distressed in any way.

 

“Your distractions are weak.” Draco counters, the corners of his mouth curling with amusement.

 

Theodore lifts his head to peer down at Draco, brow arched ever slightly. “I’ve only just gotten started,” he replies with the wicked sort of smile that makes Draco’s pulse jump. Without another word he pushes himself up and slides a knee over Draco’s middle, easily straddling him between clothed thighs. Draco’s gaze lowers from the ceiling to peer intently at Theodore, whose skin is liquor flushed and his hair properly mussed. Draco holds his tongue as Theodore makes a sloppy show of un-caging the buttons of his shirt, a shared sigh escaping them both as Theodore’s warm fingertips brush over pale and exposed flesh. “Mm,” Draco hums softly in his throat, which supplies Theodore with enough encouragement to continue. Carefully, he pushes aside the two halves of Draco’s shirt, fully exposing the smooth, skin that is hidden beneath. Theodore leans over and presses his lips to the warm spot above Draco’s heart and although the words are left unsaid, the meaning of the action is felt clearly by both.

 

It is precisely this way that Theodore spends the remainder of his evening, locked away with Draco; slowly disrobing him and paying proper worship to his faith and his love and his life’s very blood. Like Draco, Theodore knows not how much time he has remaining on this earth, and also like Draco, he sets out each new day to make the most of every beat of his caged heart. It is these first, infantile moments of the new day when Theodore Nott breaches Draco Malfoy like he has countless times before, and although this night can be classified like many others laid to rest before it, somehow the air feels different in their room this night. “I’ll love you with my dying breath,” he breathes against Draco’s throat that is tacky with perspiration, guiding himself slowly, methodically deeper within the body that held him in ways that no other could or would.

 

For his part, Draco somehow manages to look flawless, even amidst a proper shagging fit for the gods. He smiles up at Theodore, swollen lips curving into the sort of shape that makes the other man’s heart pump more persistently. “Only until your dying breath?” Draco asks with a quirk of a brow that makes Theodore grin; open-mouthed and panting. “Death is not the end of all things, Theodore.” Draco adds, a bit softer, his fingertips brushing across Theodore’s cheek. “Fine. When we’re ghosts or corpses, I’ll still want to fuck you senseless. Is that what you’d like to hear?” Theodore’s words are far more strained than Draco’s because he has never been as practiced or as disciplined, in any regard. He chooses this particular moment to thrust forward firmly, which earns him a satisfied grunt from the other. Draco pretends to ponder the question a moment, as if actually considering his options. Theodore moves faster, determined to make Draco Malfoy succumb, by any means necessary. In the end the conversation is temporarily forgotten in favor of far more basic desires than spoken words. Theodore is still blinded by release when Draco arches up beneath him and smiles. “Yes,” He says plainly, which causes Theodore’s brow to arch in confusion. “Sorry?” Theodore asks, not nearly clear-headed enough to attempt proper brain function.

  
Draco sighs rather dramatically and twists his fingers in Dark strands of Theodore’s hair, centering his attention. “Yes, that is what I want to hear, and do you know why?” Draco does not pause here to give Theodore a chance to respond. “Because you belong to me, in this life, and out of it. You will never be free of me, even in death.”

 

Leave it to Draco Malfoy to say something completely profound and moving in the aftermath of lovemaking. Theodore would say he was taken by surprise by this declaration, but he would most certainly be lying through his teeth.

 

“As it was meant to be,” Theodore replies simply, and when their lips meet, it is so.

 

∞

 

 

It is five hours later that Draco finds himself once more locked in the study with his trusted advisors and companions. He is pacing a long wall that houses a fireplace and looking marginally less than his usual put together self. “Tell me something I don’t know, D!” Draco’s tone is clipped to the point of annoyance and he tosses his hands up in the air when he speaks because he is frustrated. Draco doesn’t like being told what to do, even if it is in his best interest to listen.

 

“Look, all I’m saying is that you shouldn’t lead the lot into an obvious trap. I can’t make your decisions for you Draco, I never could, but I can tell you when you’re being a fool. _Think_ about the rest of us, that’s all I’m saying.”

 

Daphne is seated on the corner of the massive desk in the room, eyes narrow and ever watchful. She’s known Draco her entire life and there are few times that she can recall to mind now, that should would have enjoyed throttling him more than she does now.

 

Draco pauses mid-step to turn slowly around, eyeing her incredulously. “Us?” He asks, clearly affronted. “What do you mean, _us?_ You get to leave this place every night and return to your acceptable home with your acceptable family and your acceptable friends. You may like to envision yourself as one of us, but that’s not really the case, is it? Daphne Greengrass would never sink with this ship because she knows how to play both sides of this board, isn’t that right?”

 

The moments the words leave Draco’s mouth he regrets them, and the look that passes over Daphne’s face is not something that he will soon forget. He doesn’t mean to be so cross with Daphne, this isn’t her fault; none of this is her fault. It wasn’t her fault that her parents had taught her how survive and it certainly wasn’t her fault that Draco couldn’t accept the fact that she was right.

 

Daphne jumps silently down off the edge of the desk and smoothes her hands over her skirts, and although she has yet to utter a single word, Draco knows that he has just made a very foolish mistake. “Well, if that’s the way you feel.” She murmurs, and when she turns towards the door to take her leave, Draco is right there, catching her carefully by the arm.

 

“I’m sorry,” He utters a bit stupidly, and although she stills, she doesn’t turn around to face him. “I’m taking my frustrations out on you and I apologize.” Daphne visibly bristles at his words, which pulls a frown out of Draco, and when she yanks her arm out of his grasp, he flinches.

 

Draco is hardly surprised when Daphne does not leave, but turns on him instead. “Do you honestly think you can pull off any of this without me? Fine. Be my guest.” Daphne does not advance on him as she speaks low and even, narrowed eyes glaring daggers straight into his soul. Draco takes a step back and has the decency to look terrified, not because he is pacifying his best friend, but because he knows better. “Since I’m _not one of you_ then you wont miss my assistance.” Daphne’s mouth curves into a satisfied smirk as she gives Draco a final once over before turning on her heel and heading towards the door. “Good luck with that.” She adds without turning back, and then she is gone without another word.

 

The remaining occupants of the room stare after her for a long while, all three silently contemplating very different things. It is Theodore who speaks up first. “Well that went well,” He mutters a bit dryly as he turns his attention towards the half-empty bottle still sitting in the middle of the desk. “She’ll be back, she just needs to cool off a bit.” Blaise adds hopefully, arching a brow as Theodore foregoes a glass and drinks straight from the bottle. “What?” Theodore asks innocently, grinning widely as he holds out the bottle for Blaise, who seems to contemplate the bottle in question for a moment before shrugging a shoulder and taking it in hand for a drink himself. Draco is still staring at the door, a myriad of conflicting emotions pulling his features into a deep-set frown. “She’ll come around,” Theodore says in his ear while resting a warm hand on his shoulder, holding the bottle in front of him with the other. Draco sighs heavily and takes the bottle, still frowning. “No, she won’t.” He says finally, and then he raises the whiskey bottle to his lips and concentrates on the burn in his throat instead of the one in his chest.

 

∞

 

It is eight days later when Draco finally admits to himself that he is completely fucked without Daphne’s help. With no more eyes and ears amongst the masses he has no way of knowing who is on the move and who is suspiciously staying put. The natives are getting restless, as they say, and Draco, ever the stubborn brooding king of his castle, has finally come to a decision.

 

“Listen up,” He says loudly from his seat at the head of the massive dining table, and when he nudges his chair back to rise to his feet, a hush falls over the room. “Here we go again.” Pansy mutters with a roll of her eyes, which earns her a scathing glare from the man himself.

 

“Pucey and Baddock have just returned from scouting and they say there are whispers of the annual Yule Ball across the entire countryside. Now, I know our morale is down with the loss of dear Daphne, but fear not, Slytherins! We still have our wits and our style, and our work here is not yet complete. I have valued our time here together like no other, and I hold you all close in my heart like family. But let’s not be fooled into believing that our way of life can remain as such indefinitely. We came together with a shared purpose and I intend to make a stand for that very thing, once and for all!” Draco pauses here to hold his head high and stare around the room at each Slytherin in turn, silently daring them to disagree. When not a peep is uttered, he smiles, and then continues. “I know that this will not sit well with everyone here and I will understand if you wish to flee instead of standing with me, but I have a plan…”

 

Draco knows that his plan is half-baked at best, but he is tired of running and he is tired of living off of borrowed time that he feels he must fight for every moment of every day. He is quite aware that he most likely will not come out of this siege on the capitol alive and although he rather loves living and breathing, it has taken him a surprisingly short amount of time to come to terms with his impending doom. As suspected, not all of the Slytherins are quite ready to storm the castle and make a stand against the wrongs of this country, and that’s okay, he doesn’t hold it against them. _Too_ much. In the end, their number is cut by half and Draco finds himself standing in the Library the following evening with the few remaining Slytherins who were not scared into running for the hills. He turns his attention to Theodore, who has been watching him silently from his post in a dusty old armchair. “Are you sure you want to follow me into the dark?” Draco asks evenly as he crosses the room to stand before the other man.

 

Theodore lifts his head and smiles up at Draco, shrugging a shoulder casually. “I’ll follow you straight into hell if I must.” He replies, and the confirmation pulls sharply on Draco’s heartstrings.

 

 

∞

 

It is two nights later when five dandy figures skulk through the shadows of the capitol, weaving a silent and unseen path straight towards the center of all things. No words are spoken as the masked group edges along the sides of buildings out of sight, quietly making their way. When they are safely ensconced within the darkest shadows, silently pressed against the walls of the grandest social room in town, Draco heaves a silent breath and turns to face his friends. Theodore Smiles widely at him and Blaise nods firmly as if he understands the words unspoken. Millie chews her bottom lip and wrings her hands, but still manages a shaky smile because she is as ready as she’s ever going to be to go down with this sinking ship. Graham Montague doesn’t even notice the solemn exchange happening because he is too busy peering into the corner of a massive stained glass window and silently marveling at all the dancing and carrying on inside. “It’s been a pleasure,” Draco murmurs, and when he strides towards another one of the many windows circling the building, Theodore stops him with a hand on his arm. “See you in hell,” He whispers against Draco’s mouth, and the kiss that quickly follows is not nearly long enough in Draco’s eyes.

 

∞

 

Of course I would very much like to tell you that Draco and his fellow Slytherins stormed the Yule Ball and escaped without a single casualty, but that is not exactly the case. When Draco burst through the painstakingly crafted stained glass window, he rained more than shards of elegant glass down upon the partygoers on the other side. Screams of terror and upset sounded off around the ballroom as five determined figures gatecrashed this party and made a proper mess of things. Draco jumped up on one of the many, long tables and made his way down the center of it, kicking plates of feast out of his path and upending goblets of red wine. He held his mirror faced outwards for all to gaze upon their own reflections, even if the meaning far outweighed the terror in their ignorant little eyes. In the end, the Slytherins were caught and cuffed and dragged through the streets, as it were always meant to be and when Inspector Potter himself strung the noose around the unmasked head of Draco Malfoy, his chest swelled with satisfaction and pride. Draco and his companions said not a word as the streets filled to capacity, and although this was most certainly his unfortunate end, he was determined to look death in the eye with his head held high and a smirk upon his charming face. Women swooned and men snarled and when the executioner’s axe came down swift and fast, it was not quite doom that it delivered, so much as retribution.

 

Gasps of shock and awe (and even a might bit of respect) rang out through the night as the executioners mask was lifted to reveal Adrian Pucey, who jumped fast and free of the death march stage with his fellow Slytherins, who ran barking into the night like a pack of wild Hyena. Draco cast a last look over his shoulder as he fled, easily picking out Daphne amongst the chaotic crowd. She stood stalk still, watching her group of friends flee with a smirk upon her face and arms crossed across her chest and somehow, Draco knew that everything would be all right.


End file.
